Desiderium
by The Friendless
Summary: -Not yet-


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any quotes that you see in the story, it belongs to J.K Rowling.

* * *

Desiderium

Part One: The Plan of Albus Dumbledore

* * *

1996

There was something odd in the air that stormy night. He couldn't explain it.

Maybe it was eerie vibe that hovered like the fog above the ground. Maybe it was the drowsy atmosphere that washed all attentiveness away with the falling rain. Or perhaps it was just a normal feeling, and he was being a paranoid old fool that everyone made him out to be. He could only guess.

But, of course, his guesses were usually always right.

Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair and studied his intertwined fingers, frowning. An avalanche of thoughts tumbled through his mind, scattering in every direction before settling into one messy pile. He was known for having all the answers, oh yes. However, this time it was different—this time he had no idea. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, being the one out of the loop for the first time.

There was a faint knock on the door.

"Come in," said Dumbledore wearily.

Curiously enough, nothing happened. The door did not open like he expected it to, and he could hear nothing but complete silence on the other side. The only noise in the room was the soft snoring coming from the portraits on the walls of previous Headmasters, and the slight patter of rain-drops hitting against the side of his window, the one that held the sight of nothing but the view of a gray, black-streaked sky.

Something was definitely not right.

Calmly, he stood up. He knew that it was wise to be reasonable, especially during the dark times with the ongoing war, so with slight trepidation, he drew out his wand with his newly blackened hand and cautiously approached the door. He didn't even hesitate, for one second later the door was open and he was facing a veil of darkness.

"Hmm, anyone there?" he asked, just for the sake of humoring the restlessness that seemed to stir within him. "No? Dear me... it must be getting quite late..."

Turning back around, he went to close the door. It had almost closed tightly shut when he heard a small _thump_ against the bottom.

It had hit something.

Peering down curiously through his half-moon spectacles, he saw, lying on the foor, a small, dark shape—a package.

"What do we have here?"

1998

Breathe.

That was what his mind was telling him, but it was hard to do so when one was being strangled underwater. The Horcrux around his neck burned like fire against his bare chest, and a frenzied state of panic was wrapping itself tightly around him; it was as if Death himself was suffocating him. In a horrible moment of a lapse in sanity, he briefly thought about a time when he and Ron were sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, writing down death predictions; drowning had been one of them. Hopefully they got good marks for that one...

A sharp tug broke him out of his thoughts and he clawed at the chain desperately, wiggling in a vain attempt to get it off. He should have known it was useless; it seemed to be cemented to him. The locket did not let go, demanding his life, as it clung securely around his neck, it's resolve stronger than his own. His head was beginning to feel dizzy. Surely, he was dying. He could feel himself rising, lifted higher up to the glossy black surface, towards the end.

_Breathe_.

And, miraculously, he did—albiet rather unevenly—with his face pressed against the cold snow, his limbs quivering in tremors. He could hardly feel anything—he was too exhausted to turn around and see if his body was even still there. He idly wondered how he was still alive, as he continued to splutter violently, barely aware that someone was doing the same above him. It wasn't until he heard the heavy foot-steps did Harry Potter freeze. It took a moment for realization to settle in.

Someone had saved him.

_Hermione_, he immediately thought, twisting on the ground, trying to get his legs to work properly. Of course she would be the one to save him. There was no one else, no one else who possibly would, seeing as Ron...

"Are—you—_mental?_"

... was gone?

It was the shock of hearing that voice that gave Harry enough strength to stagger back to his feet. Half believing that he actually didn't survive, and that he was truly dead, he turned around to see Ron Weasley, fully dressed but completely drenched, with the sword of Gryffindor, the Horcrux, and an unidentified, however strangely familiar, object in his hands. There was a long moment that consisted of nothing but stunned, heavy breathing.

"Why—the—hell," panted Ron, breaking the silence, and holding the Horcrux up, "didn't you take this thing off before you dived?"

Harry didn't answer. The silver doe that had lead him to the pond was far away from his mind, replaced by the fact that Ron was really there, standing in front of him. Still confused and numb, he picked up the pile of clothes by the lakes' edge, and with his fingers fumbling, he quickly put them on. After he was done slipping his sweater over his soaked head, he continued to stare at Ron, almost expecting him to disappear at any given moment.

Ron had just saved his life.

"It was y-you?" asked Harry finally, his teeth chattering. He rubbed his neck in the spot where the Horcrux previously was. There had been burns from where it had clung. When Ron looked confused, he continued, "Y-you cast that doe?"

"What? No, of course not! I thought it was you doing that!"

"My Patronus is a stag," pointed out Harry.

"Oh yeah. I thought it looked different." Ron gave a small smile. "No antlers."

Harry didn't smile. "How come you're here?"

Ron immediately looked away, obviously hoping that this moment would come up later. His hand tightened around the hilt of the sword. "Well, I've — you know — I've come back. If, you know, still want me."

There was a pause. Harry stayed silent. He didn't want to admit it, but ever since Ron had left him and Hermione, he had been miserable—they both had been miserable. It was almost like he himself was a Horcrux; as if a large part of him was missing. During the long weeks without his best friend, he still hadn't grown used to the empty space and the horrible silence that held no enthusiasm. Ron had left, and in doing so, had taken their motivation and happiness with him.

But now, there he was, looking uncertainly at him, and all Harry could think was: Ron had just saved his life.

"Oh yeah, I got it out," said Ron in afterthought, holding up the sword. "That's why you jumped in, right?"

"Yeah," said Harry slowly. "But I don't understand. How did you find us? And what's that thing?"

They both turned to look at the small object. It looked like a necklace, with it's long, golden chain and a circular band around the sand-filled hourglass—

Harry's eyes widened in realization. He couldn't believe he didn't notice it right away. A memory of him and Hermione, back in third year, floated into his mind, and he remembered them running down the steps to save Sirius Black from being given the Dementor's Kiss. They had gone back in time... But then another scene popped into his head, and he watched as the time-turners fell and repaired itself in the Department of Mysteries, as they, once again, tried to save Sirius...

A sharp pang of emotion flooded him, the one that always did whenever he thought of his Godfather. No matter what anyone would say, he knew it was his fault; perhaps, if he had just listened to Dumbledore and learned to block his mind, he'd still have_ family_...

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts in the far corner of his brain. They were always there, waiting for him, because no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't shake them away. He did for now anyway, because there were far more important things to do than recall past memories. He couldn't let himself be distracted on their mission. Frowning, he said, "I think I know what that is; Hermione used one in her third-year, remember? It's a time-turner. What do you think it was doing there?"

"Dunno," said Ron. "Why was anything in the pool anyway?"

"That's what I'm wondering as well. You didn't happen to see anyone, did you?"

Ron hesitated, glancing at two trees growing close together some yards away. "I did think I saw something move over there, but I was running at the pool at the time, because you'd gone in and you hadn't come up yet and—"

Harry was already hurrying to the place where Ron had indicated. The two oaks grew close together; there was a gap of only a few inches between the trunks at eye level, an ideal place to see but not be seen. Harry looked for any signs of footprints, but the ground around the roots seemed undisturbed. Knowing this, he still couldn't help but feel that there was a more than slight chance someone was hiding there, watching him. Casting one more wary glance, he walked back to where Ron stood.

"Anything there?" Ron asked.

"No," said Harry with a sigh. "It was empty."

"So, how did these get in the pool?"

"I'm guessing whoever casted that doe Patronus did," said Harry. "But we need to get back to Hermione, and tell her we got the sword— we just need to find the tent again." He paused. "I mean, that is, if you want to."

"I do!" Ron said quickly. "Of course I do, I said I did, I just—I made a mistake. I was a—a prat, an idiot. I regretted it the second I left, I— " Ron swallowed, and looked down at the ground for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then he turned his blue eyes to stare directly at Harry's green ones. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left, I—"

"That's all I needed to hear," interrupted Harry, giving a grin. "But thanks for trying to give a speech."

Ron stared at him, aghast. "You're not angry?"

Harry gave a small shrug. "Of course I was at first, but you're here now, aren't you? Isn't that what matters?"

"No, I—I abandoned the mission, I was a selfish prat—I—"

"Ron," Harry interrupted, and Ron snapped his mouth close. "You're right, you are a prat; a real big idiot, in fact. And unless you want to be hexed before Hermione does the honor herself, I'd stop apologizing. You just _saved_ my life, _and_ got the sword. I'm sorry if I'm not complaining after that."

"I left, Harry, I left you both—"

"Have you come back?"

Ron studied his feet. "Yes."

"Then that's that," said Harry firmly. "Now, let's go, we need to get this Horcrux over with."

In silence they made their way back to the tent, which took longer than he expected it to, but he hardly noticed as his brain was still buzzing and, for once, he let a little hope wash over him. He had his best friend back. They had the sword. Now all they needed to do was find the rest of the Horcruxes, and maybe they could end the war—and end Voldemort.

It seemed like a wishful idea, and a even more ludicrous mission that Dumbledore had tasked them with but, Harry, even with his forming doubts about the man, would see it through until the end: Whether it ended with the war or with his death. Even though sometimes he wished everything could be normal, he had learned at a very young age that that just wasn't the case for him. Trouble always found him.

"I hope she doesn't send birds at me again," said Ron quietly beside him.

"_You _should hope you're still alive after this," Harry muttered, before pulling open the flap and entering the rather spacious tent. "Hermione?"

A full head of bushy hair sat up quickly. "Harry?" Hermione said, stiffling a yawn. She focused her tired eyes on him. "What is it? Are you all right?"

"Yes, actually, I'm better than all right." He grinned. "I'm great!"

She stared at him oddly.

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes flickering down to the time-turner in his hands. Harry knew that if anyone were to recognize it instantly, it would be her. She had used one for her studies, afterall. Not unsurprisingly, she let out a gasp.

"I don't believe it!" She settled down the book she had in her lap in the chair next to her, and rushed toward him. "That can't possibly be a time-turner, can it?"

"I'm pretty sure it is, but listen, Hermione—" Harry said, only to stop when he heard rustling behind him, and saw Ron poke his head in, a small but wary smile on his face. He looked hopefully at Hermione.

"Er—hello."

There was a short pause as the air seemed to freeze around them.

"_You_," Hermione whispered. Her face was mysteriously blank.

Ron glanced uncertainly at Harry and then back at Hermione. He cleared his throat. "Hi?"

"_You!_"

"I—"

However, before Ron could say anything else, there was a loud thump, and Harry took a step back in shock as he watched Hermione fly at Ron, her fists attempting to punch every part of their red-haired friend.

"Ow—_stop it_— Hermione, calm down—_ow!_"

Hermione grabbed her previously discarded book and aimed it at Ron's head. It rammed into his shoulder and fell with a thump onto the floor. "'HELLO!?'" she shrieked, her previous calm façade twisting into a furious expression. Harry was prepared for her to start breathing fire. "You've been gone for weeks, and all you say is _'hello'?_"

"Hermione, wait—" Harry tried, but she quickly rounded on him.

"No! Don't even try to defend him, Harry—he left us! I can't believe you brought him here!"

"He saved my—" he tried again, but Hermione seemed to be on the verge of a rant and ignored him.

Her eyes blazed dangerously, and all the tiredness that he had seen at first had evaporated. "I don't care what he's done! While we have been trying to stop You-Know-Who, and almost _dying_ in the process, he's probably been all cozied up back at home, useless, as he is, _when we could have been dying for all he knew_— !"

"I knew you weren't!" said Ron loudly, the tips of his ears going red. "I was always listening in on the radio, making sure... I wanted to come back the second I left! I didn't even go home—who knows what they would have done to me: Mum, Ginny and them would have been my biggest fans, I'm sure.

"I stayed at Bill and Fleur's," he continued breathlessly. "At their cottage. They weren't proud of me, but they didn't ask much questions..." His eyes flickered between them. "I wasn't proud of what I've done either. I regretted it the second I left, but by the time I came back, I guess you were already gone." Reaching into his pocket, he brought out what looked to be another wand. "Before, I ran into some people; they were a gang of Snatchers—"

"A gang of who?" Harry asked, as Hermione threw herself into the closest chair available, stiffly folding her arms and legs. She seemed to be refusing to even look at Ron, and instead kept her eyes trained on Harry.

"Snatchers," repeated Ron. "They're everywhere—gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors, there's a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. And since I was alone and looked to be school age, they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to come up with something fast so I wouldn't get dragged off to the Ministry. Had to tell them I was Stan Shunpike; he was the first person I thought of."

"They believed that?"

"Well, they weren't the brightest blokes. I reckon one of them was part troll, by the smell of him... But yeah, they had a real big row about whether I was Stan or not—two of them even got into a fight, and I managed to get free and Disapparate. Didn't do it so well, though"—he held up his right hand to show two missing fingernails; Hermione stared stonily at them—"Splinched myself again, and I came out miles from where you were. And, like I said, by the time I got to where that bit of Riverbank was where we'd been... you'd gone..."

"Oh, how enlightning," Hermione said in a lofty voice. "What a gripping story. You must have been simply terrified. I wonder what we were doing then, Harry? Oh yes, meanwhile we went to Godric's Hollow and, let's think, what happened there? Nothing, of course, it's not like You-Know-Who's snake turned up and nearly killed us! And You-Know-Who himself certainly hadn't arrived, just happening to miss us by a second. I mean, imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn't it?"

Ron stared at her, shocked. "What?"

"Oh, try to keep up, won't you?" she coldly said back. "I know it's hard for you, but just rack your brains and possibly—"

"Hermione," said Harry quietly. "He just saved my life."

She looked away.

"Look," he continued when no one said anything, "I'm sure Ron has more to say, and I'm sure you do too, Hermione, but might I remind you guys that we have the _sword_."

For the first time since Ron had entered the tent, Hermione seemed to have finally noticed the items in Ron's hands, and her eyes widened explicitly.

"Is—is that what I think—is that the true sword of Gryffindor?"

"There's one way to find out." He looked at Ron expectedly.

"What?" Ron asked in confusion. A brief moment passed before he jerked back in realization. "No—me? No, not me, Harry, I can't-"

"It has to be you. I know it. You were the one who got the sword out of the pool."

He meant it. If there was one thing Dumbledore taught him, it was about certain kinds of magic of the uncalculable power of certain acts.

"But, Harry, how are you going to open it?" Hermione asked, slowly standing up as if she was preparing for what fight the Horcrux was going to bring.

And before he knew it, the answer came so readily to his lips that he thought he had always known it deep down: Perhaps it had taken his recent encounter with Nagini to make him realize it. His eyes taking the sight of the locket, he stared at the serpentine S, inlaid with glittering green stones: It was easy to visualize it as a miniscule snake, curled upon the cold rock.

"I'm going to open it using Parseltongue."

Ron started backing away.. "W—what will happen?"

Harry paused. "Well, the bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me, so whatever's in there is bound to put up a fight. So when I open it, you stab it, Ron, okay? Strightway—don't hesitate."

But Ron was shaking his head. "No, I—I can't. Don't open it!"

"Ron, you have to."

"I can't, Harry!"

"You—"

Ron shook his head violently. "No—listen to me—you don't understand! That thing is bad for me! I'm not making excuses, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than how it affected you guys; it made me think stuff—stuff I was thinking anyway, but it just made everything worse, and I'd take it off and get my head straight, only to have to wear it again, and—and I just can't do it!"

"You can," said Harry, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder, "I know you can. You're the one who got the sword, I know it's supposed to be you. Please, just get rid of it, and we'll be one Horcrux down—one step closer to getting rid of You-Know-Who. Please, Ron."

His friend gave a shuddering breath.

"Ron," Hermione said softly, for once looking at him directly, probably deciding to take a more sympathetic route rather then her previous angry tirade, "Harry's right. I know it's hard, but if anyone is supposed to do it, it's you. _You_ need to do it. I—we—know you can."

Ron looked away, but before he could, Harry caught something in his eyes that seemed to shift, as if accepting their words.

Finally, their friend managed to croak out "Tell me when."

"On three," said Harry, look down at the rattling locket, concentrating on the letter S. He could hear some sort of clicks in his head, as if a clock was counting down with him.

"One... two... three... _open_."

But the locket did not open like he knew it should have. Instead, the old time-turner a little away from it lit up, and the sand in the hourglass started turning black, along with his vision, as it burst out in a steam of mist.

"Harry!_ Ron!_"

"What the—?"

He heard a faint hiss of a whisper in his head as he lost consciousness.

"_I have seen your heart, and it is mine_."

1998

"Have you done it, Severus?"

The quiet, but questioning words were spoken to a man with dark, greasy hair, sallow skin, and a hooked nose, wearing what seemed to be a long, black cloak, making him resemble an over-grown bat. He strode into the room, his steps swift, his cloak billowing behind him, and took a seat at his desk, barely giving a glance to the other man in the portrait above him.

"Well?" inquired the other man again pleasantly. His blue eyes, even in a picture, twinkled mysteriously behind half-moon spectacles. His matching white hair and long beard seemed starkly out of place when hanging against the dark, shadow-filled room. The usual assortment of trinkets and objects were no longer to be seen as they once were, when Albus Dumbledore still lived, and an eerie gloom that came with Severus Snape seemed to be creeping in, sinking into the cracks of the walls.

"Yes," said Severus testily, "I have. I don't suppose you want to tell me _why_ I had to give them not only the sword, but a time-turner as well?"

Dumbledore shook his head, a smile resting on his face contentedly. "I think you already know the answer to that, Severus. The reason why is something that I do not wish to share, though, of course, I wouldn't be surprised if you had already guessed it."

Severus's lip curled. "There's not much to guess when a time-turner is involved, Dumbledore."

"No, not much, is there?" said Dumbledore cheerfully, as if purposely enjoying the aggravated look on his old friend's face. "But maybe more than you think, oh yes: Not every one magical object works the same, nor does the normality of one guarantee it's similarity. I'm sure, as we speak, Harry and his friends are having an immensely interesting time. All we can do now is wait."

"In case you've forgotten," said Severus coolly, "you're no longer alive. I, on the other hand am, and there's much to be done under the Dark Lord's orders. I'll have to listen to your riddles some other time."

"I'll be sure to remind you, my old friend, that you were, as of now, to be remained here. However, it is probably for the best, as it is to my intention that Voldemort won't be particularly pleased, I'm afraid. He will soon know that something is amiss, and I have little doubt that he will begin to notice Harry's absence."

"So he _will_ be gone? Have you sent him on some other foolhardy mission of yours that I'm not allowed to know?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that."

Severus gave a slight sneer. "How simply _marvelous_. I'm sure it must be reassuring to know Miss Granger is there to accomodate for the boy's lack of brains."

Dumbledore sighed and peered down at the younger man before him. "Have I not proved, all those times ago, that I trust you, Severus? I had hoped that you could give the same favor, and hear me when I say it is for the best, and your protection, that it will do for me to not mention it anymore. And now we must extend that onto young Harry Potter, for we need to believe in him more than ever. He is our only hope for the end of the terror of that caused by Voldemort. It is... only a matter of _time_..."

He trailed off, collapsing into silence and not saying another word.

The man beside him did the same.

* * *

Part Two: A World In Disguise

* * *

Unknown

When Harry awoke, the first thing he noticed was that he was no longer in the tent; rather, he was lying on the soft, grassy ground that was devoid of any snow, even though he was quite sure it had been there only a moment ago. He slowly got to his feet, his body screaming in protest, and tried to collect his rambling thoughts. The last thing he remembered was a cloud of black obscuring his vision, voices, and something calling inside his head...

He blinked the sun out of his eyes, and quickly turned in a circle, looking at his surroundings. Lying nearby, unmoving, were Ron and Hermione in the shade of thick, tall trees that reminded him eerily of the Forbidden Forest. For a brief moment he stood there, stunned and confused, taking in the sight of their pale, lifeless bodies, before rushing over to his friends, kicking away the time-turner that was in the middle of his path in the process, his mind only focused on one thing.

"Ron," he muttered, dropping to his knees and shaking him. His heart beat frantically against his chest. "Hermione, wake up—please—wake up..." He scrambled desperately though his pockets, searching for his wand for a full minute before remembering that it had been unfortunately broken at Godric's Hollow. He swore under his breath and scanned his eyes over the ground, hoping that he would find something, anything...

A loud cough followed by the sound of grumbling broke his concentration.

Harry immediately wheeled around, letting an immense feeling of relief wash over him as he saw Ron trying to sit up, and Hermione stir slightly from her spot on the ground.

"You okay?" he asked as he helped Ron get to his feet.

"M'all right," Ron mumbled, dusting dirt off of his clothes. "Wha' happened?"

Harry, who didn't know himself, shrugged. He had already tried to pin-point their location, but for all he knew, they weren't even on the same continent anymore. He distinctly remembered it _not_ being bright and sunny, that was for sure. Although, he wasn't exactly complaining; the scenery of endless piles of snow had grown quite dull after awhile. But it wasn't like they had signed up for a splendid vacation trip, after all.

"Hermione?" said Ron, still slightly disoriented. He shook her shoulder gently, and she shifted away, trying to push his hand off. "C'mon, wake up, Hermione, we're going to need your brains for this."

"Go away, Ronald," she muttered, her eyes still closed. "I don't exactly want to talk to you right now."

Ron looked at Harry in disbelief, then turned back to her, rolling his eyes. "You can't possibly still be mad at me!"

"Hermione," Harry started hesitantly, "you should probably get up. We're in some weird place... I'm not sure where: The tent's gone and nothing looks familiar—we can be somewhere across the world for all I know."

Almost instantly, she shot up.

"_What?_" Her eyes lit up in fear, and she quickly took in her surroundings, stumbling to her feet. The gravity of the situation seemed to have sunk in. "Oh no, Harry—the time-turner—and—and the mist—" She shook her head, sending her bushy hair flying—"This isn't good! I nearly forgotten for a moment—I can't believe—" She took in a steady breath, and allowed herself to look around more slowly. "Where is everything?"

"Well, the swords gone," said Harry, surveying the ground. "The time-turner is... well, I might have kicked it somewhere," he admitted. "But I don't know where the Horcrux is."

"Do you reckon we're in, I dunno, the past?" asked Ron, frowning. "I mean, it's possible isn't it?"

"It is," agreed Hermione, nodding her head cauitously. "I'm not quite sure what happened, but I'm fairly certain I saw it start spinning before I lost consciousness. If I had to take a guess, it's obviously the most likely answer—the real question is a matter of when and where we are."

"And what's that?"

Hermione sighed. "I can't possibly tell unless we find out a bit more information, unfortunately. Though, we can't be back that far; time-turners can only go back an hour a spin, and I hardly think it went on for that long. But, of course, I'm not sure. I mean, for one, the seasons seemed to have changed rather drastically, and I don't think we're in the same spot we were before. It's awfully suspicious, isn't it?"

Harry silently agreed. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention. He had been involved with time-turners before, and never before had he had the same reaction to one as he did with the recent one. Not to mention he was pretty sure that they didn't just explode black clouds of smoke, render people unconscious, and do it all on command the moment he spoke parseltongue.

They fell into a silence, each one lost in their own thoughts, each one hoping to understand the situation. It was futile. Harry gave up and started looking for any of their things that he could find, his head starting to pound against his skull. The glaring sun was making him sweat, and for a long moment he longed to just rest; to let his eye-lids close against the bright, blue sky, and slowly sink to the ground, sleeping...

He gave out a big yawn, with his eyes falling shut against the world, letting his present worries drift away...

And then suddenly he was transported into a dark, circular room, his pale hand stroking the head of a snake, his eyes feasted upon the unfamiliar image of a man in front of him, whose eyes darted around the room in terror—whose heart was thumping in his chest so loud that he could almost hear it... He laughed—a high, cold laugh that filled the room, and made the hairs on the man's neck stand up, shivering. Harry could feel the frozen anger deep inside him, aching to be let out.

"_It is... unfortunate that you brought me this news_," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the man's face. "_Yes, rather unfortunate_..."

"_Please_," croaked the man. "_Please_—_my Lord—I had nothing to do with it, I—I promise!_"

"_You didn't, you say?_" He smiled coldly, his voice turning silkier as the rage bubbled up more fiercely. "_Why don't I believe you?_"

"_Please, my Lord—_"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The man dropped to the floor, dead, his last pleading words dying along side him in his throat.

"_A fool_..." He gave a look of disdain at the body by his feet. "_No matter. We have more important business that needs to be dealt with... I believe it is time I search for our old friend, don't you think?_"

Nagini hissed in reply.

"_Harry Potter_..."

"No," he muttered, a sharp pain flooding his forehead. "No..."

"_Harry?_"

"No..."

"Harry, wake up!"

His eyes shot open and immediately brought his hands to his head, rubbing his scar as it throbbed furiously. He sat there, breathing unsteadily for a few minutes before he lowered his hands to see the concerned, fearful faces of his friends. Ron looked uneasily at him, and Hermione looked torn between lecturing or comforting him. She quickly made up her mind.

"Are you all right?" she asked, biting her lip. "Harry, your scar... it's—it's bleeding."

"What?" He looked down at his hands, and, to his alarm, saw that it was covered in blood. "What the—?" Taking the edge of his shirt he pressed it over his scar. He could still hear the high, cold voice echoing in his ears.

"Harry, what happened?"

He didn't bother to answer right away. She watched him, patiently waiting for his answer, and he turned his head away, trying to concentrate on wiping off the blood.

"I don't know," he finally said, bringing his shirt back down. "Another dream, I guess."

"Of You-Know-Who?" she said quietly.

He nodded his head, avoiding eye contact with them both. "Yeah. Voldemort. Some stupid dream like all the others. You know, the usual."

"Yes, but, Harry, what happened? Something must have caused your scar to bleed like that. It hasn't happened before, has it?"

"Maybe he just scratched it," Ron suggested uncertainly.

"Maybe, but I don't think so." Hermione continued to stare. "Harry?"

"I don't know, okay?" he said irritably. "I just watched him kill someone—some man—and he said something about looking for an old friend. That was it. There was nothing significant or different to it compared to the other dreams. So, let's just leave it alone, okay?"

Just when he thought she would continue to press him for more information, she abruptly nodded. "All right, I will. Listen, I'm sorry, Harry, but you can't deny how strange it is: The time-turner, and now this—nothing is making sense! I don't think we should stay here any longer, who knows if there's any Death Eaters about. Now that we don't have the tent or the cloak, it's going to be much harder, especially without proper wands."

"You don't have wands?" said Harry incredulously. "That's just great. I can't wait until we run into our good, old pal Voldemort. What are we going to use? The time-turner? I don't think throwing sand at him will be an effective weapon."

Ron started laughing, and she scowled.

"Oh stop it, Ron," she huffed indignantly. "Don't think I'm still not upset with you! And Harry, we do have a wand, but it's only one though. Unfortunately, it belonged to a Snatcher, but I suppose we'll get used to it after a while." She crossed her arms. "Besides, we also found something else."

Harry looked to where she was indicating, and was surprised to see the sword and Horcrux lying further down the path.

"See, mate?" said Ron, slapping Harry on the back. "If the time-turner plan doesn't work, we can always run You-Know-Who through with the sword."

"No, Ron," Hermione snapped. "I meant the Horcrux."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "We'll run him through with the Horcrux?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No. Honestly, you two! If you would listen to what I'm saying, you would know that if you looked closely at the Horcrux, you would be able to see that it's open and _damaged_. Now, I'm not sure about you, but if that's true, we only have three more to go!"

He blinked, and turned towards the Horcrux. It was indeed damaged: The chain was tangled messily, the locket thrown open off it's hinges, and the snake-like S that was there before was now missing the top part. He didn't understand how that was possible; if his memory served him correctly, Ron never brought the sword down on it. It hadn't open either; rather, instead, the time-turner was the only thing affected from him speaking in parseltongue.

It didn't make any sense.

"So, where are we going?" asked Harry, getting to his feet.

"Well, I was thinking that we should go back to where the tent is—if it's still there, I mean." Before Hermione said anything further, she quickly gathered all the objects into her arms and off the dirt-covered floor. "Hold these, will you?" Once she deposited them into his arms, she grabbed the Snatcher's wand. "Oh, I really hope it works..."

"What do you mean?"

She studied the wand uncertainly, and then gave him a sad glance. "I don't know if I can Apparate properly with this wand. It's rather advanced magic, isn't it? It'll be awfully risky, of course. Even while I was using my own wand there was still a chance that one of us would have gotten Splinched..."

Harry heard Ron groan, and he didn't blame him. Ron had already been Splinched enough as it was; the first time being a rather nasty one, after their plan to infiltrate the ministry for the locket could have gone better. He knew that if they tried to Disapparate, especially with a wand that wouldn't work right for the wizard, the results could end up being undoubtedly execrable.

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that they couldn't stay where they were—for all he knew it was the Death Eaters that planted the sword there, knowing that the time-turner would end up sending them in another area for some inexplicable reason. He only hoped that by the time they changed location they all would still have their arms and legs intact.

"We need to try," said Harry firmly, not missing the grimace Ron threw his way.

"You're right, of course. We obviously can't stay here. Though, it's sort of familiar, don't you think?"

"Yeah," agreed Ron, "I noticed that. Doesn't it remind you... ?" He trailed off, and his eyes looked over Harry's shoulder. Harry, alarmed, snapped his head around in the direction he was looking in, but all he saw was endless rows of dark, tall trees, with thin branches lying in their path.

Hermione peeked around Ron. "What is it? Did you see something?"

"No," he muttered, frowning. "I could of sworn I heard a noise though..."

Harry shared an uneasy glance with Hermione. "Right. That's it. We should probably get going now, unless you want to become someone's dinner."

"I reckon it's morning, but—"

"Shush, be quiet," Hermione said, casting a wary glance. "Harry's right, we need to go."

"You can't Disapparate with one and come back for the other," Ron reminded her, rather unnecessarily. "We don't know where we are, so we'll have to all go together."

She gave him an unimpressed look. "Of course I know that! Come here, will you?" She beckoned both of them to grab onto each of her arms. "Okay, on the count of three, all right?

"One... two... _three!_"

Harry involuntarily closed his eyes, waiting, but the swirling, nausea sensation of Disapparating never came like he expected it to—nor did the _crack_-like sound. The only noise he could hear came from Hermione's frustrated sigh, which was soon followed by intense muttering. He slowly re-opened his eyes, and, to his confusion, realized that they were still in the same spot.

"I don't believe it," said Hermione, looking at the wand in disbelief. "It didn't even do anything!"

"Do you reckon it's broken?" asked Ron, scratching his brow.

"Of course not," she said, still flabbergasted. "It can't be. Hold on—_engorgio!"_

The stick she had pointed the wand at grew steadily larger.

"_Reducio!_"

It shrunk a few inches before faltering.

"Let's try to Apparate again," suggested Harry.

Hermione hesitated. "You don't think there's wards, do you?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Maybe we really are in the Forbidden Forest! Wait—no look—doesn't this look the same to you, Harry? Remember when we went going off to find Hagrid's monster friend, Aragog?" He shuddered. "It's this place!"

"Oh, honestly," huffed Hermione. "Why is it that I still have to remind you that you can't Disapparate or Apparate on the grounds of Hogwarts—haven't you ever read _Hogwarts: A History?"_

"'Course not," said Ron casually. "Not when you quote it every five minutes."

"Well, that's because I guessed you wouldn't remember it anyway!" retorted Hermione.

"Not everyone's brain holds a dictionary like yours, Hermione."

She snorted. "You certainly need one. Sometimes I wonder if you can even read!"

Ron flushed but otherwise stayed silent.

"Can you two cut it out?" said Harry wearily, feeling his annoyance rise as he watched them give each other heated glances. They both immediately looked away, but nevertheless, still went on to send one more secretive glare at each other.

"Thanks," said Harry sarcastically.

An uncomfortable few minutes issued as Ron and Hermione made a point to ignore each other, and Harry rolled his eyes. Finally, they managed to cooperate enough to try Apparating again, but no matter what they did, or what they tried, it wouldn't work. Harry was left pointing the wand at the ground, frustrated, trying to vent his anger by blasting apart a couple of rocks a few into the air.

"This isn't working," Hermione moaned.

"Isn't that obvious," snapped Ron. "We're probably going to get eaten by Aragog's children."

"Don't be dramatic, Ron."

"They're here! I know they—_bloody hell_."

Harry straightened at his tone. "What?"

"See!" Ron pointed frantically at a nearby tree. "I knew it—look! S-spider!"

Hermione peered closely at it. "Oh, Ron, it's just a baby one."

"It's one of _them!"_

"Oh, yes, I can see it now!" she laughed. "What a scary, giant acromantula!"

Ron turned a pale shade of green.

"Er—come on, Ron, let's go this way..." Grabbing Ron by the shoulder, Harry had to practically drag his friend away. "I think we should just start walking and see where it gets us."

"I don't know," spoke Hermione hesitantly. "It might be dangerous."

"We have to do _something_," said Harry firmly. "We can't just stand around here all day."

And so they left, walking onward until the trees started thinning out, and the sun started getting low. The sky was now a faint orange and pink color. Almost every half-hour Hermione would try and Apparate, but she only accomplished in shaking the wand angrily, as it still proved useless. Harry lead the way, tired and starving, hoping that they would soon find their way out of the forest; he was getting rather bored of looking at all the endless, similar landscape. He was ready to rip the wand out of Hermione's hand and forcefully threaten it to take them back to the tent.

In the distance he could hear animals about; he hoped that they were friendly. If Ron turned out to be right about the acromantulas, he didn't know if he had enough energy left to fight them off. Besides, Harry would probably have to carry an unconscious Ron, which would definitely slow him down. Hermione already looked like she was going to fall asleep on her feet; she had tripped countless time from poor, unsuspecting rocks that slightly protruded from underneath fallen leaves.

They had traveled what almost seemed like a few hours before odd noises started to approach them, but every time they turned around, nothing could be seen. A few times Ron told them he had heard barking, but Harry, too lost in thought, barely listened. He felt like they were getting nowhere.

It was when another twenty minutes went by did Harry finally voice his thoughts.

"It has to end eventually, doesn't it?" Ron had answered bracingly.

But he was beginning to doubt that—for all he knew they were just going in circles. They had been walking for what felt like eternity, and his legs and feet were starting to have a dull, itchy ache spread through them; he would most likely be very sore by the next day. Even some time later Ron was less optimistic, and downright groaning.

"That's it!" he said, panting. "Just—let—me—die..."

"Wait!" hissed Hermione. "Do you—?"

She broke off, and Harry immediately understood why. There was a large, pounding sound echoing not that far away, and he made a shushing gesture for Ron to be quiet. As they waited with bated breath, there was the unmistakable sound of a dog's howl.

"Who's there?" a voice growled.

They all stared at one of each other, eyebrows raised. If Harry didn't know any better, he could have sworn he heard a very familiar a voice; the voice of the person who broke down his door and told him he was a wizard.

And, amazingly, it was the very same half-giant that stepped out of the shadows and confronted them. He had the same wild, tangled hair; the same dark, crinkled eyes. But the usual smile that he wore wasn't present on his now fierce expression, and Harry felt his stomach clench as he saw his friend aim a bow at them.

This couldn't be him.

"Hagrid?" all three of them said, stunned.

He frowned. "How do yeh know me name?" he asked suspiciously.

"What?" Hermione looked at him in shock. "You—you don't remember us, Hagrid?"

Hagrid grunted. "Should I know yeh?"

"No—er—of course not..." She took a few steps back, disbelief still registered on her face. "Sorry, erm, Hagrid, we're just a little lost..."

"I can see that," he said, still raising his weapon threateningly. Ron stared at him, gaping. "What are yeh doing out here anyway? Are yeh students?"

Harry shared a glance with both of his companions.

"Uh, yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "We're Gryffindors."

Hagrid narrowed his eyes. Fang let out a bark from beside him. "I don't think I've seen yeh kids before. Yeh know yer not suppose' to be in the Forest, there's dangerous creatures in there. Yer lucky you weren't eaten. I'll have ter take you ter Professor Dumbledore—"

Hermione gasped and tightly gripped Harry's arm, seemingly unaware that she was doing so.

"What is it?" asked Hagrid, staring at her and Ron, the latter having just started to splutter. "I'm sorry to rat yeh out, but it's agains' the rules, you see. I have to do me job, now that I'm a teacher an' all."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Hermione quickly. "We understand. Um, listen, erm, Hagrid, that isn't really necessary, really! We don't need to speak to—to Professor Dumbledore. Like you said, you're a teacher now, aren't you? You can just give us detentions! I'm sorry, it's just that, Harry here, he's been badly hurt, and we just want to get him to the Hospital Wing immediately."

Hagrid turned to him, squinting in the dark, and his eyes trailed over Harry's scar. "Ah, I see. Nasty cut yeh got there. Well, okay, but only jus' this once! I'll walk with yeh up to the castle, but if I catch yeh in these woods again, I won't be letting it slide, got it?"

"We understand, sir!" With a weak smile, Hermione gestured for them to start walking. "Thank you very much."

"Ah, it's no problem," said Hagrid. "But yeh still get detention—Gryffindors right? I'll need to get yer names..."

"Of course," she said hesitantly. "I'm Hermione Clearwater. And these are..."

"Ron Stanley?" supplied Ron, looking questioningly at her.

She gave him a hard look. "Yes, Ron Stanley, and that's -"

"—Harry Dudley."

Hagrid blinked. "That's some odds names yeh got there. Though, I reckon they're not as weird as most," he chuckled. A couple of minutes passed before they finally reached the large, oak door of the castle, and he pulled it open. "Well, here yeh go, better go take him ter the infirmary—take care now. Don't let me see yeh be wandering."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione said again, giving a fake smile. "Come on, Harry..."

The door closed with a snap behind them.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" demanded Ron, breaking the tense silence. "And who the bloody hell was that?"

Hermione covered her eyes with her hands. "I don't know!"

"That wasn't Hagrid," said Harry quietly. "Our Hagrid _knows_ us. This has to be a trap; the Death Eaters must have faked it, just to get us here..."

"He mentioned Dumbledore," muttered Ron. "You don't think—?"

"Don't be silly, Ron!" said Hermione shrilly, her voice echoing down the long, torch-lit hall. "He can't be, he just can't be! Harry's right, this has to be a trap; whoever that was just wanted to try and trick us by saying that, that's all. It's ridiculous!"

But Ron's eyes seemed to have lit up in hope. "But what if he really is alive?" he said eagerly, looking between both Harry and her. "No, listen—maybe it was him who gave us the sword! It was probably him that was doing the Patronus!"

"No," said Harry slowly. "No, she's right, trust me. I saw Dumbledore die—I saw his dead body, I know, I was there. Besides, his Patronus was a phoenix, remember?"

"Oh yeah..."

"Nevermind that," spoke Hermione, lowering her voice. "We need to leave."

"What do you reckon we do?"

"I think maybe—"

"The passageways!" exclaimed Harry loudly. "We'll take one into Hogsmeade, and then just Disapparate from out of there. That was why we couldn't before—we really were in the Forbidden For—!"

"Ah, now what might have you been doing there, especially at this time of night?" asked a voice pleasantly from behind them. Hermione let out a small shriek, and Harry jumped back in surprise.

They hastily turned around and to their horror, someone was standing there, illuminated in the torch-light, watching them calmly.

He wore a deep purple set of robes, high-buckled boots, and belt that was equal with the length of his snow-white beard. His eyes twinkled peacefully behind half-moon spectacles, and for a moment Harry couldn't breathe. He didn't know what to do— half of him wanted to attack the man that stood in front of him.

But even his nerve failed as he stared into the dead eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

1998

Somewhere far, far away, a pair of red eyes gleamed against the pitch black night; a pale, skull-like head immersed deeply in the shadows, almost as if it was in a pool of deep, murky water. The air was sparked with electricity, chilled to the bone, and the people around him shuffled nervously, not daring to say a word except to let out a muffled gasp as a snake coiled between their feet threateningly, hissing strange words to the red-eyed man dressed in all black. To no ones surprise, the man hissed back, understanding the creature.

"Our plans have been rendered greatly," the man said quietly, and everyone stilled. "Harry Potter is gone."

There were loud gasps and mutterings as each Death Eater turned to look at each other, each one greatly confused. The man waited a few moments, red eyes burning, before holding up a long, thin hand to silence them. Before he could speak, however, a short man wearing the uniformed mask of a Death Eater, clumsily stepped up, his hidden eyes widened in wonder.

"You've killed him, my Lord?"

Lord Voldemort sneered, and with a sharp _bang_, the Death Eater went stumbling back, falling down, the spell coursing through him as he twisted painfully on the ground. "No, you incompetent fool! I do not know if the boy is dead; he has vanished completely!"

"M-my Lord, forgive me," said the Death Eater, a tremor in his voice. "I was just—"

"Get up," hissed Voldemort. "And get back into line, Wormtail, I have no use for your cowardly excuses this time. One more, and I'll make you suffer a pain much worse than death."

"M-My a-apologies," he managed to squeak out, wringing his hands desperately. "I'm—"

"_Enough!"_

Wormtail fell silent, and Lord Voldemort purposely turned away from the pitiful sight, his anger rising in his chest. Oh, how he was tired of dealing with such unnecessary idiots; there will be no need for them after his new regime is set in place. He would have to wait, unfortunately—for now—until his plan has taken course... Then, afterward, he'd kill each and every expendable one personally: he would watch their weak, useless lives drain away, and take it in pleasure, as he was, undoubtedly, the most powerful...

But then there was Harry Potter. The boy—the mere child—that had broken his body beyond repair when the child was just merely a defenseless, crying toddler. And now he was still living, still breathing, still ruining all of his hard work... Though, he knew the truth: Harry Potter was nothing but just an ordinary boy, one who had no sensational power other than relying on others to do the job for him. And once he, Voldemort, took care of his little friends, no one—nothing—would stop him. The Potter boy was as good as dead. He would make sure no one was there to die for him again.

At least, that had been the plan.

Harry Potter, even when no where to be seen, still found a way to mess everything up.

* * *

Part Three: An Expected, Unexpected, Complication

* * *

Unknown

A beam of moonlight filtered through the revealing curtains of Professor Dumbledore's office, casting a soft, silver sheen that glared reflectively off the surface of the dark and polished desk that stood before them. In the corner of the room, an unmistakable, vibrant bird, that Harry recognized as Fawkes, chittered quietly by a small, rounded table arranged with trinkets and ornaments in a neat precision.

It was almost the same as he had remembered.

They sat down, all four of them, with only one able to remain eye contact. Harry fought to train his bespectacled eyes on the row of shelves on the other side of the room, trying to ignore the heavy silence as a burst of confused emotions raged within him. He could remember, all too well, the last time he had seen Albus Dumbledore. It was, in fact, the current room that he was now in when he witnessed the old man's death—and Severus Snape's betrayal.

His throat tightened painfully, and he balled his hands into fists. Harry—at least, the dark part of him—wanted to leap across the desk and demand answers. He wanted to rampage and shout at the man he had started to doubt, just like he once did in his fifth year, after Sirius's...

Fawkes let out a soft chirp and lowered it's magnificent head to examine him. And, just like that, all of a sudden he felt drained.

"I would hate," started Dumbledore quietly, "to bring you out of your reminiscent thoughts, but I was hoping, if you may, that you would be willing to enlighten me on your... ah, _situation_." After a pause, where no one said anything, he leaned back in his chair. "Oh, I do not mean to pry, I am just—ah—merely curious of your arrival. Of course, curiosity ought to be approached with caution, as I do say so myself. But I think it is safe to say we haven't been acquainted, yes?"

"That depends," said Hermione quietly, her hands twisting on her lap, "on whether you believe us or not, sir."

"I see. Well, I hope it suffices enough to know that I am most definitely willing, Miss...?"

She hesitated.

"If you do not wish to tell me," he said gently, "then you do not have to. Regardless of who you are, it is _what_ I am more concerned with. It would be, undoubtedly, foolish of me to converse with a potential Death Eater, as I can only see that ending in someone—let's just say—kicking the old, dear bucket. I'm afraid, under those circumstances, this meeting would be most unpleasant."

* * *

...tbc


End file.
